


Hobbity Drabbles and Ficlets

by just_ann_now



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, POV Animal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got my start as a fanfiction writer with drabbles, and it was a long time before I wrote anything longer than a hundred words. Consequently, I have a <i>lot</i> of drabbles! Most of these were written for the LJ community, tolkien_weekly. (To be organized chronologically according to canon as I get more posted.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lobelia's List

**Lobelia’s List**

To-Do BEFORE Auction:

1\. Count books – make sure gardener’s boy hasn’t walked off with any. Though why he would, I can’t guess. Still, he has a shifty look.

2\. Ditto for garden tools – Bilbo invested a tidy bit in those tools; they are ~~MINE~~ his!! and worth a pretty penny too!!

3\. Clothes – certainly all too nice to be given to _Gamgees._ Sell!   
(Except for tatty old boots, good enough for Gamgee Senior)

4\. How to keep lollygaggers away from beer barrel? Station Otho at cellar door? Who to watch Otho?

5\. Surely a few spoons wouldn’t be missed???


	2. On and On (Bilbo, Frodo, Sam)

**On and On**

He remembered it from his youthful wanderings, a narrow ribbon curling northwest from Whitwell, but when he looked for it again there was only tangled blackberry and eglantine. Forty years later, a faded map in a dusty book rekindled his interest. 

After a few summery afternoons directing Frodo and Sam, the three of them fortified by a full-to-bursting picnic basket and several bottles of beer, the path was cleared, and well worth their blisters. Sweetly scented of honeysuckle, it curves and dips, winding its way toward the Great East Road, where the White Towers glimmer somewhere just out of sight.


	3. Rosie's Dilemma (Rosie, Sam)

**Rosie’s Dilemma**

A lass can tell, even if the lad’s too shy to speak. That special smile under lowered eyelashes, the lilt to his voice that’s music meant only for her. How he’ll stop for a glass of buttermilk and a bite of cake knowing full well her brothers aren’t around to tease. The way he always seems to turn up her partner when there’s dancing.

Aye, a lass can tell.

Comes a time, though, a lass tires of waiting, wondering what’s tying his tongue; if there’s someone else holding his heart more firmly than she. And she wonders what to do.


	4. Fall Cleaning (Ted Sandyman, Tom Cotton)

**Fall Cleaning**

“What did Rosie say when she found out Sam had high-tailed it off?” Ted Sandyman asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tom took a long pull of his ale. “What could she say? They weren't bespoke, though it looked as like all this time. Took up a frenzy of housework, though; mopping and scrubbing, pulling all the wall hangings and carpets out to air in the sun, ' 'Fall cleaning', she says. 'Tis the season for it, I s'pose, though I'd surely not want to be the rug she was beating, out there in the dooryard.”


	5. Bring Me That Horizon (Bill the Pony)

**Bring Me That Horizon**

I always felt Standstilldamnyou was not a proper name for a horse. Other horses had proper names - imposing names like Felaróf or Roheryn, or sweet-natured names like White-socks or Swish-tale. Other horses got proper food, too - timothy and oats and apples, and bran mash when they were ill. I was lucky to get moldy hay, when The Man thought of it; otherwise I tried to graze on stubby dry grass when I could. It was a hard life, and sometimes I wondered why some of us are born to suffer, and others,seemingly, not. 

Until the day The New One came for me. He was shorter than The Man, and his hands were calloused, but not rough. _I'll call you Bill_ , he said, whispering into my ear, stroking my nose in just the right spot. He smelled strange, but not in a bad way; he smelled of warmth, and apples. A tiny whiff of danger, perhaps, faraway, but the smell of apples was stronger, and his voice was kind.


	6. Plain Fare (Sam, Mag the Cook)

**Plain Fare**

“Just boiled, and mashed?” Mag was doubtful.

“Some butter, hot milk, pepper and salt – fit for kings, ma’am! Not that I ever had time to fix ‘em like that for Strider, King Aragorn, that is; roasted in the ashes was more like it, leastways till they were all gone. When you asked what our favorite foods were, I thought, for Mr. Frodo… I could fix them, if you’d rather…” Sam gazed eagerly around the kitchen. 

Afterwards, Mag would always remember the joy in Samwise’s face as he prepared the plain, homestyle food: a gift of love for his dearest friend.


	7. A Length of Haradric Silk (Sam, Frodo)

**A Length of Haradric Silk**

 

Sam knew a little about many things; quite a bit about a few things; but about cloth, he knew next to nothing at all.

This is what he knew: the simpler the hobbit; the coarser and sturdier the cloth. Work breeches and shirts needed to be serviceable, the material strong. Gentlehobbits like Mr. Frodo, though, should be garbed in soft tweeds and fine linens, suitable for delicate skin. 

So why was his eye caught by, of all things, a length of fabric, here in the marketplace of Minas Tirith? He had already been gifted with a generous new wardrobe; the plain clothing he preferred, though well cut and beautifully crafted. (He was a bit embarrassed by the exuberant generosity of the people of the City – what had he done, after all, but stand by his master, to the very end? Wouldn’t any loyal servant have done the same?) 

But this length of - silk, was it? - carelessly strewn atop bolts of sober linsey-woolsey, was unlike anything he had ever seen. 

It was blue, or so he thought at first, blue like the sky over the Shire on a midsummer afternoon, a blue so deep that it seemed to contain all the essence of summer sky within itself, leaving none for any other day. But then, as the light shifted, the blue deepened to the color of evening, when the long day has relaxed into coolness, and the fireflies are just beginning to come out. Weren’t there some flickers of gold within that blue, like the winking of the fireflies? 

But then the stallmistress, noticing his interest, shook out the cloth with a practiced _snap!_ and look! Perhaps it was not blue at all, but blue-green, shading into green, the green of the springtime meadows where placid sheep wandered . Or the flickering green and gold of those strange lights that danced and shimmered in the wintry sky, singing the music of the Ainur. 

It was certainly not the kind of cloth he would ever need. Yet still he stood, transfixed, while Frodo waited, smiling.

“Now, Mr. Frodo, I’ve already been given enough fine clothes what that I’ll not need anything else for years. Even my smallclothes have my initials embroidered on them, I suppose so the laundrymaids can tell them apart from everyone else’s. What would I be needing with a piece of cloth like that?” 

For the first time, the shopkeeper spoke, her accent strange, her voice rich and deep. “For your sweetheart, back home. Silk from far Harad, for her wedding dress, and enough left for a pretty gown for your firstborn daughter, when you bring her to meet our Queen.” 

Sam blushed. “Wedding dress! Party dress! Firstborn daughter! I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a pretty color, though, that blue. I’ll bring it home as a present for Mrs. Cotton. She’s been like a mother to me – she’ll know what to do with it, I’m sure.”


	8. Simple Tastes (Sam, Frodo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Back to Middle-Earth Month 2012 Bingo Challenge: Textures: Silken

**Simple Tastes**

 

"It's not that I'm ungrateful, Mr Frodo..."

"Of course not, Sam. No one could ever accuse you of that."

"And they're just as nicely made as anyone could do, back in the Shire."

"Certainly as fine as anything that could be found there, yes."

"It's just that, well, I don't feel comfortable in them. They're too light, too soft, too fancy."

"Well, Sam, they are made of silk."

"But that's just it, Mr. Frodo. Silk's fine for gentlehobbits like you, and Mr. Merry and Mr Pippin. I'm just Samwise Gamgee. Couldn't they find just some plain cotton underpants for me?"


	9. Aftermath (Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, Bell Gamgee, Gaffer Gamgee)

**Aftermath**

Someone had gone ahead to her house. There was a bath drawn; it embarrassed her to need help, but oh, the water was so warm. Gentle hands patted her dry and tucked her into bed. The sheets smelled like lavender and sunshine. 

When she awoke, it was evening. "Supper, ma'am!" a cheerful voice said; baked apples with clotted cream, chicken potpie. Her mouth watered. She picked up up the spoon, then set it down again - one of Bilbo's. How many had she stolen over the years? She began to cry. "There, there, poor thing," Bell murmured, holding her close. 

__-----

Bonus drabble (Breakfast challenge): Always Thinking(Gaffer, Bell)

"Why you got to over there? Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is nought to us."

"Well, who else? I'll just run in and tidy up the place, help her get settled, fix her a bit of supper. I can stop back in the morning and ommell her some eggs, if needs be, won't take a moment, the poor lamb."

The Gaffer shook his head as she left, wicker basket under each arm. She'd always been a good-hearted lass, his Bell, none better, and their Sam took after her. Between the two of them, they'd set the Shire to rights in no time a'tall.


	10. And Now, Insightful Political Commentary from Bree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Game of Thrones" challenge at Tolkien_weekly.

**And Now, Insightful Political Commentary from Bree**

 

"I've got nuthin' 'gainst kings in principle,", Butterbur says, " 'specially since he took out those Black Riders and all. But now that's done, what do we need one for? We've gotten along well enough without."

A dwarf murmurs something about _unobstructed trade routes. "Elvish queen,"_ his companion mutters darkly. 

"That's t'other thing," Barliman adds. "What if he has more'n one son, or a clever daughter? Just 'cause we've not seen the game of thrones played here in a thousand years dun't mean it couldn't be played again. And that's a game what has few winners 'mong folk like us."


	11. Now the Green Blade Riseth (Gaffer Gamgee)

**Now the Green Blade Riseth**

I'd never seen my boy so angry as he was ‘bout the Party Tree. Now, I love green things as much as he, but what with the stealin', and burnin', and folk turned out o' their homes, you'd think – still, he had fond memories of that tree, Mr. Bilbo and all. 

He planted a little silver nubbin in its place. “You’re like a hen with one chick, fretting over that whatever-it-is!” says I.

“Just you wait,” he smiles.

Now there's a pretty little thing coming up, slender, with shimmery gold leaves. Makes me happy just lookin’ at it. Peaceful, like.


	12. Touch (Sam, Rosie, Gandalf)

**Touch**

At first I was hesitant. _Go on, let him hold her_ , my Sam said, so I laid my precious in the Wizard’s arms, surprised at how expertly he held and rocked her, crooning a strange lullaby. 

At the unfamiliar voice her eyes opened wide, and she stared in amazement. Reaching out her dimpled hand, she patted his beard tentatively, then pulled. 

Flustered, I jumped to stop her, but he boomed out a great belly-laugh. “It's been a long time since that happened,” he chortled. “But I do not think it will ever happen again,” he added, a bit wistfully.


	13. The Company of Heroes (Sam and his children)

**The Company of Heroes**

Bilbo Gamgee, four years old, was counting on his fingers. 

“There was our Da, that’s one, and Mister Frodo, and Thain Peregrin Took, and Mister Meriadoc, that’s four; and Gimli the Dwarf, and Legolas the Elf, and Strider- now-King-Aragorn, and Gimli Dwarf, and Gandalf the Grey. That’s nine, right?” 

Daisy was seven, older and wiser, though sorely lacking in patience. “You counted Gimli the Dwarf twice, so you only have eight. There were nine, though. Nine companions in the Fellowship of the Ring. Who was the ninth one?” 

A moment of quiet pondering; then a chorus of voices. “Haldir the Marchwarden! Thorin Oakenshield! Fatty Bolger!” The Gamgee children were great ones for stories, and each had their own beloved heroes. 

“Bo’mir! Bo’mir the Tall!” gurgled two-year-old Ruby, waving her stuffed oliphaunt by one bedraggled leg. 

A shocked silence fell over the breakfast table. “She’s right, but how did she know?” Goldilocks asked. Ruby just chuckled, eyes full of baby-wisdom. 

“I don’t remember hearing much about him,” Young Hamfast said slowly. “Why do you never talk about Boromir the Tall, Da?” 

_Why do I never talk about him?_ Sam wondered. I was angry, I carried that anger for so long, and used it as weapon to protect Mr. Frodo. Why am I still angry at the memory, after all this time? 

“I didn’t know him very well, and that’s a fact. He kept mostly to himself, though he did teach Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin a bit swordfighting, which was good, as they needed those skills in the end, fightin’ in those big battles and all.” 

Hamfast’s eyes were aglow, as always, at the thought of battles. “And he died a hero’s death, protecting them from the ûruk-hai. They lived to fight, and Mr. Merry helped kill the witch-king, and Mr. Pippin saved the steward’s second son. So it all worked out fair, didn’t it, Da?” 

_It all worked out fair, didn’t it, Da?_

After all these years, thinking about how it all happened, and how it might have happened differently, I can see that Lord Boromir had a part to play, just like that stinking Gollum did. Maybe it was all written out for us, long before we were ever born, and we were like mummers in a play. Why was I so lucky as to have the part _I_ played? 

“Aye, son. It all worked out fair.”


	14. Sprouting (Hobbit lads and lasses)

**Sprouting**

It wasn't all that noticeable at first, especially with the hobbit-lads; they wore their trews short anyway. But the banging heads on lintels - that didn't used to happen at all! Now most all the lads sported goose eggs on their noggins. Some of the door frames in the older smials had even started to crack. Shoulders broader, legs longer. 

What was most noticeable was the hobbit-lasses. "What is this world coming to?" their grannies wailed. Shapely ankles began peeping out from under flouncy skirts, where for ages untold it had been a well-turned-out set of toes that attracted attention.


	15. On the Road

**On the Road**

It felt odd to be just two of us, but soon we came to prefer the open sky and each other’s company to any inn or farmhouse. He had a tale for every hill and stream; each night he sang me to sleep.

“This is it,” he whispered, our ponies halting abruptly in a starlit glade.

“What, Da?” I did not want to be afraid – that greenwood was too beautiful for fear.

“ ’Twas this very spot I had my first glimpse of the Elves.”

Silently we spread our blankets. He sang of Elbereth, and I dreamed of the sea.


	16. The Birth of Silmarillion Fanfiction

**The Birth of Silmarillion Fanfiction**

 

“ 'Now Huan devised a plan for the aid of Luthien, and coming at night, he brought her a cloak…' ”

“Da.” Sam tried to ignore the tugging on his sleeve. “Yes, Daisy?”

“Where did Huan get the cloak?”

“Hmmm, they don’t ever explain that, do they?”

“Hush up, Daisy! We want to hear the story!”

“Where did he get it, Da?”

“Where do _you_ think he got it, sweetling?”

“I think he sniffed at every door, and when he found one that was open, he…”

Sam reached over Robin’s sleepy head to pass her paper and quill. “Write it down, love.”


	17. My Da Says (Any Gamgee child)

**My Da Says**

Over yonder, my Da says, there's a woodland glade, where he and Mister Frodo once passed a night in the company of the Fair Folk. When they awoke, they were alone. But the oddest thing, he says, was that the whole glade was carpeted with bluebells, though 'twas late summer, surly and dry. And each time he's been by there, my Da says, there've been bluebells, no matter the season. 

Each time I'm wandrin' I search, but I've not found that glade yet. It's not that I don't believe my Da - oh, no! I just want to see for myself.


	18. Born to Wander (Ruby Gamgee)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt, "Cross-country running"

**Born to Wander**

_Hobbits are not built for running,_ Ruby thought, as she ran. She had heard stories of the Mearas, the beautiful horses of Rohan, and thought there could be nothing better than to run cross country, all over the green grass of Middle-earth. Or to fly like a bird, one of the great eagles who had rescued her Da and Mr. Frodo and carried them gently to their friends. She longed with all her heart to see such things, to touch them and smell them and know that they were really _real._

When she realized she could not run like the Mearas or fly like the eagles, Ruby decided she would walk. Hadn’t her Da, and Mr. Frodo, walked all the way to the Black Lands? Borrowing her Da’s old pack, she would stuff it with food and her sketchbook and her water bottle, and would walk for hours, stopping now and again to draw a interestingly shaped tree, or a cat with her kittens. 

“She’s got the wanderlust,” her Da said. “One day she’ll kiss us goodbye, and walk out that door, and not stop walking ‘til she’s walked all over Middle Earth,” And that’s exactly what Ruby did. 


	19. Wandrin' Star (Ruby Gamgee, Sam, Rosie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts: _collecting recipes, travel_

**Wandrin' Star**

"Are you sure," Rosie said slowly, "that people will actually want a book about cookery? I mean, doesn't most everyone know how to cook?" 

Ruby's glance slid sideways towards her Da; he nodded his encouragement. "But people cook different in different lands. Like, oh, mashed taters, how we put chopped kale and onion in ours, but in Rohan, they put in bacon and cheese and make them all milky, like a chowder. And that's just taters! We can learn lots about folk just from the kinds of foods they eat, and why, and how those foods got to their lands. And they can learn about us, too."

"But you're just a young lass. Surely it's too dangerous for you to travel alone, no matter what with the roads supposedly safer, now we have a king again. Sam, tell her no!"

Sam took a deep breath. Of all the hard things he'd done in his life, why did this seem so much worse, at the moment, than, say, bidding goodbye to Frodo?

"I can't tell her no, Rosie; in fact, it's all arranged. She'll meet up with some of Gimli's folk at Bree, and travel with them to Rohan, and after that, Ithilien and Minas Tirith, and even Harad, if she's a mind to; the King said he could send her with some of his folk. She's a good lass, with a good head on her shoulders; she has a lot to learn and a lot to give."

Rosie's eyes narrowed. Sam knew that look, knew what was to come; he hoped Ruby knew it, too, and was ready. Then, surprisingly, Rosie laughed. 

"I thought I was done sending folks I love off to foreign parts, but I suppose it'll never be done, will it? You Gamgees and your wandrin' ways!"


	20. A Taste for Adventure (Ruby Gamgee)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompts: travel, writing, whitewater rafting, coffee, tigers, mountains, sea

**A Taste for Adventure**  
Times of peace, such had been never known before, opened up amazing opportunities for adventurous young hobbits. Travel and journal-writing became popular pastimes, not only for lads, but audacious lasses as well. 

Foremost among these daring maids was Miss Ruby, youngest daughter of Samwise the Stouthearted. Miss Ruby was the first hobbit ever to raft the whitewaters of the Bruinen. She learned to brew coffee over a charcoal fire from the dwarves of the Misty Mountains, and once spent a rainy afternoon on a hilltop overlooking the great Sea of Rhûn sketching a family of tigers she found frolicking there.


	21. The Toymaster of Buckland (Meriadoc)

**The Toymaster of Buckland**

The toys came from Dale, smoothly sanded and ready for his brush. He ground and mixed the pigments himself: azurite, viridian, cochineal, rolling the exotic names around his tongue like poetry. He found it curiously relaxing to set aside his cares and play the simple craftsman, fashioning gifts for those dearest to his heart. 

Horses of gleaming brazzilwood; fierce mumakil, ochre and cinnabar; bright hummingbirds shimmering lapis and ruby-red. Once he crafted a kine of Araw, sleek as ivory, with gold-tipped horns, but that he kept for himself, in memory of the one who bore that mighty horn.


	22. Multicultural Interactions (Elboron, Elanor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accidental encounter at midnight leads to firm friendship between Faramir's son and Sam's daughter.

**Mad as A Spring Hare (Elboron’s Tale)**

I was late for curfew _again_ , the third night running, and only in my first week of training. At home I went to sleep when I was ready, whether right after sunset, when all the doves in the cote went to roost, or long after the midnight, as the nightingale sang her goodnight song. How odd to be told what time to be sleepy, or hungry, or how many hours a day should be spent reading or practicing with the sword or bow. I wished, for the hundredth time, that my father had warned me about these things, these endless rules and procedures and obscure traditions; on the other hand, it’s quite possible that he did warn me, and I just was too excited to listen.

The quickest way from the Library to the student barracks was through the Courtyard, so hauling my pack over my shoulder, I dashed – I have always been a good runner – straight across. The sky was trying to clear after an evening shower, clouds skittering across the moon, and the stones of the courtyard were dappled by the moonlight. I was distracted a moment, thinking about the oddness of the word “dappled” in terms of moonlight on stone, rather than sunlight on green leaves. I did not notice the child standing motionless, staring at the Tree, until I had knocked her over.

I was stunned; even as I was helping her up, I was wondering what a child was doing, alone at midnight, in the Courtyard of the White Tree. But then, as she impatiently brushed my clumsy hands away, I realized she was not a child at all, but a young woman, golden-haired and perfectly proportioned, dressed in a court gown, one of the simpler ones the ladies-in-waiting wear when they are not on duty. Yet she stood not three feet tall.

Then I knew who she was.

With a flourish I reached to remove my hated skullcap, or would have removed it, had it not been lying on the ground, white feather now bedraggled and damp. I tried to reach for it gracefully, as I bowed, but it was just out of reach. I ended up on my hands and knees before I finally managed to snatch it up.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Gamgee, for my carelessness. I am Elboron son of Faramir, guard-in-training of the Citadel, and there is no excuse for my behavior. Are you hurt at all? I am truly, exceedingly sorry.”

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she responded formally as well, though I thought I saw her lip twitch a bit. “I thank you for your care, Lord – or is it Prince? Elboron. I am quite unhurt, thank you, though I might ask why you felt it necessary to run, mad as a spring hare, across the Courtyard at midnight?” By the bare glimmer of moonlight I could see that her eyes were laughing. My father had told me of the incessant good humor of the _periannath_ ; I was pleased to see that in this, as in so many things, he had spoken true.

“A trifling matter, miss, of yet another rule being broken. Nothing to worry about, they’re quite used to it by now. But might I ask you the same? What brings you to the Courtyard, at this hour of the night? Surely if you share your father’s interest in horticulture and forestry”- she startled, just a little – “then the daylight would be more suited for such a study. Or are your duties so onerous that you can scarce spare a moment for a glimpse of our Tree, shining in the sun?”

She laughed, a sound like water dancing in the fountain of my mother’s garden. “You are glib of tongue for so young a man of Gondor! Your words dance as merrily as that of any Took or Brandybuck of the Shire. I am here this night because my father told me, ‘Elanor, my girl, you’ll see many a sight in that White City, visions like stories of the past come to life, but the loveliest thing you will ever see there will be the White Tree, the Tree of the Kings, with moonlight and starlight all around.’ He had tears in his eyes when he told me that, so I promised myself that just as soon as I could, I would come see for myself.”

I felt guilty, then, for in my rashness I had spoiled a moment of beauty and joy for her, and her remembrance of her father. And then I missed my father, too, and all his tales of history and poesy and lore.

“Forgive me then, miss, for I have come between you and your happy memory. My father has told me many tales of Samwise the Brave, his courage and devotion, and his great service to us all, as well as of his humor, storytelling, and cooking skills. Father holds him in quite high regard.”

“And I have heard much of your parents, too, and have only today – I suppose it is yesterday, now – received a note from your mother inviting me to call upon her one day next week for tea. Though I’ve not yet learned my way around the city…”

“Excellent! I have been invited as well! It seems odd to receive a formal invitation from one’s mother, and to have to have it approved by the Commander of the Training Brigade…” I suddenly felt sick at the thought of those two, no three, now, tardy slips, and the upcoming demerits. Surely…..

At that moment the Watchman of the Courtyard chose to appear, coughing discreetly. “I believe it may be past curfew for guards-in-training, though I am not _exactly_ certain what time it is at the moment. And you, miss, might I escort you to the palace gate? These flagstones are still a bit slick from the rain. I wouldn’t want you to stumble along your way.”

Another quick bow, a curtsey, and we were both on our way. I walked briskly, whistling, thinking about all the marvelous kinds of folk there were in the world, and how pleasant it would be to get to know them. And wondering if we would have lemon bread at the tea party next week, because I surely missed lemon bread. And my mother, too.

 

**Something To Write Home About (Elanor’s Tale)**

I was not the slightest bit sleepy, despite the lateness of the hour, for I had discovered that much of being a lady-in-waiting really does involve just standing and waiting. For one used to long hours spent in household tasks, or gardening, or the care of obstreperous hobbit-children, attending the Queen took little energy at all. The rain had ceased around mid-evening, and the air was cool and fresh, smelling of unfamiliar flowers. I had been watching the waxing and waning of the moon over the past few weeks; this seemed a good night to try to catch a glimpse of the sight my father had described so many times.

It was just as he had said, and more – for the White Tree did glisten, not only with moonlight and stargleam, but droplets of rain still on the leaves. The breeze off the mountainside rustled them, and the gentle pattering disturbed a flock of tiny yellow birds. They fluttered sleepily, muttering, then settled back down. The sight seemed almost magical, like something out of one of my fathers’ tales. My little sister Daisy adored those tales, her mouth always open in a perfect O as she listened, spellbound. I simply stood in the quiet, drinking in the beauty of the scene, savoring each sensation to describe later.

…until something large and solid and sweaty-smelling came hurtling out of the darkness and crashed into me, toppling me to the ground. Whatever-it-was knocked the wind out of me, but then helped me up, mumbling what seemed to be both curses and apologies.

I barely caught his name – he spoke quickly, nervously, his thoughts seeming to dash madly from one thing to another. He reminded me instantly of my younger brother Pippin, who Da always says could talk the legs off of a frog. But then I realized what name the young man had mumbled, and who he was: the son of Prince Faramir, whom Da had always spoken of with such awe. “Actions speak louder than words, my girl, and that Lord Faramir had his quality shining through from the very start, in just the way he treated poor strangers, wayfarers in his land.” And now this gangly boy stood in front of me showing the nobility and quality of his house even as he tried to stuff the ridiculous cap, with its sodden feather, down over his tangled hair.

I could barely keep from laughing, but it would not do for either of us to surrender our dignity altogether. “I accept your apology, my lord, and thank you for your care. I was lost in thought, or would not have barred your path.” He twitched his nose, seeming to stifle a little choked laugh. I asked him how he came to be running so, and he asked me how I came to be standing so, and eventually we came around to the subject of our fathers. I was surprised that this young man knew so much about mine – his interest in green growing things, flowers and trees, and how he traveled all through the Shire sharing the knowledge he had learned in these mysterious lands.

The boy smiled broadly when I mentioned that his mother had invited me to tea, though there seemed to be an odd flicker of distress to his face afterward. We only had another brief moment to speak, for the Watchman had finally approached us, reminding Elboron of his curfew, to the boy’s chagrin, and tactfully offering to escort me to the Palace. As we walked, though, I heard the Watchman chuckle. I looked up – it seemed I spent most all of my time craning my head upwards, and blessed my mother for sending a jar of peppermint-scented muscle balm - and he winked broadly at me. “Quite a boy, that Elboron,” he murmured. “He’ll run us all ragged, before he’s done. But a good friend for you to have, miss.” I smiled back, already imagining the tale I would have to tell in my letter tonight.


	23. The Peaceable Kingdom

**The Peaceable Kingdom**

They met as children summering in Ithilien. She chose him that very day, and would have no other; he was dashing and flirtatious and left a trail of broken hearts behind him. Long years of wandering brought them back at last to this garden, this day, with their loved ones gathered all around. 

He wore a toe-ring she had crafted herself, mithril and lapis peeping out from the curls of his carefully brushed feet. She wore a gown of Haradric silk, strands of amber and moonstone shimmering in her beard. The stars in their eyes were only for each other.


	24. Into the West

**Into the West**

I knew what was in his mind when he brought me the Red Book. The history of our folk, and Men, and Elves, and Dwarves, all that transpired when all our fates became entwined like fine knotwork. Bilbo Baggins set down the first of it; Frodo in his turn, and my father the last.

“Tell them stories,” he whispered, his voice breaking just the bit. He kissed my brow and turned away. I could not, would not, stop him. The sea-tanged breeze rustled his hair, and he seemed at once stronger, joyful, as he walked toward the setting sun.


End file.
